


this love

by sagexbrush



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, but here we go, don't really know what this is, stiles is a werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4954393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagexbrush/pseuds/sagexbrush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He shuts his eyes for five long seconds and when he opens them again, they’re a bright blue. </p><p>	She sucks in a deep breath. She’s heard from Scott that his eyes were blue (not gold, thanks to the noguitsune she supposes.) but for whatever reason she had never been able to picture Stiles, goofy, lovable, Stiles with those blue irises. </p><p>	“Focus on something else,” she suggests, “Find your anchor.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	this love

**Author's Note:**

> so i debated for like a week whether or not to post this, but i evidently decided to post it, so here we are.

Stiles’ first full moon as a werewolf is _not_ fun, for any of them.

            Scott is visibly twitching as he secures the chains around his best friend’s body; to which Stiles merely gives a weak smile and a nervous twitch of his head.

            Lydia knows he’s nervous for his first ‘full moon’ even though Scott has had him shift on multiple occasions.

            They’re all nervous. Stiles had always been the person to keep them in check on the full moon (with the occasional help for Lydia) simply because he had been _human_.

            Well that had all flown out the window when an alpha had come to town and decided ‘hey let’s turn this only human member in the McCall pack just for giggles’. (And yes, this is what her life had turned into.)

            Malia seems especially nervous, like she isn’t quite sure what to do in this position, and unfortunately – they’ve decided that his actual girlfriend _can’t_ be here while he shifts. Two years after she made the shift from coyote into human, and she still couldn’t be exactly _trusted_ to maintain the shift.

            Of course, Lydia thinks as she watches the others – she isn’t quite sure any of them can be trusted right now. They’re all beyond nervous right now, mostly because it’s _Stiles_ and while everything’s been difficult lately with Stiles, he’s still _Stiles_.

            So because she’s rather worried that they might accidentally shift and she’ll have a whole hoard of crazed werewolves on her hands (seriously, did the full moon make them high or something?) she makes a decision.

            “All of you, get out,” she’s rather loud and liberal about saying it, especially since they’re in her lake house, in her basement, and so she should really be calling the shots, even if she wasn’t the alpha.

            “What?” Scott looks at her like she’s crazy.

            “You heard me,” she waves her hands, “All of you get out. Your hovering is only making it harder for him, and you all look like you’re about to go crazy and wolf out – so go run around in the forest or something. Kill a few rabbits.”

            Malia’s the only one who seems to perk up at the idea, possibly because she probably _had_ hunted rabbits before – and Kira bobs her head in agreement.

            “I agree with Lydia,” she says, her eyes flicking over Liam and Scott, who both look like they’re about to have a stroke or something (idiots.)

            “But – “ Scott begins, “Who’s going to stay with him?”

            Lydia tosses her hair over her shoulder, “I will.”

            “You’re the most – “

            “Unprotected I know,” she says, “But it’s better than one of you accidentally wolfing out and _killing_ him.”

            The idea of Stiles’ dying seems to frighten Scott enough that he nods in fervor, hooking one hand around Liam and Malia’s elbows and pulling them backwards out of the room.

            Kira follows, mostly because Lydia knows she wouldn’t go without Scott, and also because it would be mega awkward with the Kitsune who barely knew Stiles (really) and the Banshee who Kira _knew_ was in love with the boy in front of her.

            (Damn drunk confessions.)

            “Why did you stay?” Stiles pants, and she knows that he’s having a hard time from the pain in his eyes. She sits down just outside of his reach, crossing her legs in front of her and idly braiding her hair.

            “Because I was the only one who could,” she answers simply, “Not that I really thought the other’s would hurt you. But they were stressing _me_ out.”

            He laughs weakly. 

            “Are you scared?” he asks.

            “No.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because you won’t hurt me,” she says surely.

            “How do you know?” he whispers, sinking back against the wall, “You should go too.”

            “And send Mama Scott down here with you? Not happening.”

            “I’m going to hurt you,” he murmurs, and she shakes her head.

            “You don’t hurt people.”

            “I hurt people all the time!” he growls, “So leave Lydia.”

            “Nope,” she crosses her arms over her chest, “Not happening. You’d have better luck convincing Scott.”

            “Then send him down here,” he suggests through gritted teeth. She doesn’t even answer to that, but instead cocks her head slightly and looks down at him.

            “Does it hurt?”

            “Yes,” he exhales, “Like a billion bugs are crawling underneath my skin.”

            He shuts his eyes for five long seconds and when he opens them again, they’re a bright blue.

            She sucks in a deep breath. She’s heard from Scott that his eyes were blue (not gold, thanks to the noguitsune she supposes.) but for whatever reason she had never been able to picture _Stiles_ , goofy, lovable, _Stiles_ with those blue irises.

            “Focus on something else,” she suggests, “Find your anchor.”

            The rest of them always blab on and on about anchors, and she supposes that being Scott’s best friend (or whatever they were now, all the lines had gotten blurred she supposes.) he must have already gotten the ‘anchor’ speech.

            “Like what?” he gasps.

            “Like…” she searches for something not connected to anything that could potentially have the _opposite_ affect – “ Like Malia!”

            “Malia?”         

            “Yes,” she says, even though it feels like a knife to her side (he was _happy_ with Malia, she reminds herself, he had always been happy with Malia.) “Malia? Your girlfriend?”

            “Right,” it comes out as more of a growl, and she sees that his canines have started to come in, and she discreetly scooches back a few inches as claws begin to grow out of his fingers.

            He shakes his head back and forth, and she watches as the wolf like snout begins to take over his face.

            He lets out an inhuman snort of pain, and her heart seizes in her chest.

            Why them?

            Why was she sitting in her basement, watching one of her closest friends (and the boy she may or may not have feelings for) turn into a fucking werewolf, and all she could do to help was tell him to find his anchor and stay out of reach of his claws.?

            “Your anchor Stiles,” she says, “Think of Malia.”

            (This was going to be the longest night ever she swears to god.)

***

 

            Stiles hadn’t spent the whole night in an endless turmoil, in fact, after about half an hour of Lydia yelling at him everything about his girlfriend, he had seemed to come to his senses.

            Still, of course the next day she has math, and of course she’s basically falling asleep.

            Malia however, looks well refreshed and basically beaming at her boyfriend’s success. (and probably the fact that she’s his anchor, like what girl wouldn’t want to be Stiles’ anchor.)

            Stiles seems slightly subdued as his girlfriend chatters away through the math class, only murmuring a quick _thank you_ to Lydia, and scribbling a few notes on his paper.

            Lydia wonders what’s wrong; he’s got basically everything now. The girl, the power, the control, he’s even getting a 4.0.

            It’s still painful to watch Malia lean over and kiss him, so Lydia quietly collects her things at the end of math class and doesn’t say anything to either of them.

            Kira was the only one who knew how Lydia _really_ felt about Stiles, and that was mostly because of a bottle of vodka and the sight of Malia and Stiles kissing at some lame ass pack meeting – and maybe _Lydia_ didn’t even really know how she felt.

            (Who could ever really decide how they felt about someone anyways?)

 

***

                     

            Later that day, when she’s walking to her car so she can go home, she hears a manly cry of pain and the sound of running feet.

Whirling around, she watches as Stiles runs straight towards her, his backpack flapping against his shoulders and his face a pure mask of fear.

She automatically throws open her car door and tosses her bag inside, and then jumps in the drivers seat and throws open the passenger door. Stiles tumbles inside and she slams on the reverse and pulls out of the school parking lot faster than you can say ‘ _banshee_ ’.

“What’s happening?” she shrieks at him, “Who’s attacking you?”

“Malia,” he groans, thumping his forehead against the dashboard.

“Malia?” she gapes, “Why is _she_ attacking you?”

“Because I broke up with her,” he sighs, rubbing his back. “And she has claws.”

She almost asks if he needs her to pull out her first aide kit, but then she remembers that he’s a werewolf _now_ and doesn’t need special care. (She doesn’t know why that makes her sad but it does.)

“You broke up with Malia?” she hopes the happiness that’s suddenly spiraling through her chest isn’t visible on her face. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Thank you for being my getaway driver.”

“Yeah, you better thank me considering she’s going to be after my ass now too,” she pauses for a moment, and then dares a look at him. He doesn’t look devastated about the breakup, just like he’s in pain. She wonders how deeply Malia cut him. “You didn’t break up with her in a text message, did you?”

“What kind of person do you think I am?” pause. “Don’t answer that.”

“Wasn’t planning on it. Where do you want me to drop you off?”

He sighs, “Where do you think Malia won’t look for me?”

“Do you really think she’s still out for blood?”

He gives her a look.

“Lydia. She’s Malia. She’s _always_ out for blood.”

“Well, she was a coyote for like eight years.”

“I’m not – “ he lets out a breath, “I’m not trying to insult her. She’s just, too much for me anymore. I was becoming more of her babysitter than anything else.”

She can tell he’s lying to her (she _knows_ Stiles) but decides that the reasons he broke up with his girlfriend are just that, _his_ reasons.

“So where are we heading?” she asks.

He considers. “Are you hungry?”

She sighs, “I’m assuming you are.”

“Well,” he pats his stomach, “I just burnt off about a thousand calories running away from my ex-girlfriend, and I have a coupon for a free burger so – “

She should say no. She should say no because of Malia, and she was supposed to be more loyal to her girlfriends, but the fact of the matter is – she’s _not_. She and Malia have never really been friends, she’s not Allison no matter how much everyone wants her to be, in fact she’s the opposite of Allison and –

She sighs again. “Where is your coupon for?”

(And yes, she, Lydia Martin, eats a burger with Stiles. She’s well aware of the calorie count, thank you very much.)

***

 

Stiles, with his newfound grace and super speed, still manages to not notice her quietly walking up to meet him and Scott, so she catches the tail end of his sentence.

“Can’t tell Lydia –“ he’s saying, before Scott elbows him sharply in the side and he shuts up.

“Can’t tell me what?” she asks crossly, folding her arms over her chest.

“Oh nothing!” Stiles says, his voice a tad bit too high, and that boy is so lucky that the bell decides to ring at that exact moment, saving him from her interrogations.

 

***

 

Surprisingly, it only takes Malia a month to get over Stiles.

Week one she spends it angry.

Week two she’s sad.

And by week three she’s over it.

Week four, well week four Lydia sees her flirting with another lacrosse player against the lockers.

(It’s not really that surprising actually.)

It may have been sweet and cute, and they may be werewolves, but it was still a high school romance after all.

And Lydia knows better than anyone that those are proven not to last.

Stiles has been avoiding her however after that one afternoon at the burger joint, getting jumpy when she asks him questions and just being generally _weird_.

She watches him dig his claws into his palm one day in math class, watches blood trickle off his fingers and wonders _why_ he’s struggling to keep his calm in math class of all places. Malia didn’t even sit next to him anymore.

 

***

 

They all sort of just _decide_ one day (two months after his initial change) that Stiles is ready without the chains. Even Malia seems okay with the idea, and Lydia wonders if the other girl still thinks she’s Stiles’ anchor.

Maybe Stiles was his own anchor, like Scott.

It was like Stiles to be impressive like that anyways.

While they all have enough faith in Stiles to maintain his cool during the moon, Stiles seems nervous and jumpy.

Of course, that’s only in the few classes Lydia has with him because otherwise he avoids her like the plague and well –

“Lydia?” his voice is nervous, hesitant, and she feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

“Yes?” she asks crisply. They’re in the parking lot, it’s the end of the day, and Lydia’s planning on going home and trying to sleep tonight.

“Do you think you could chain me up in your basement tonight?” he asks softly, earning him a few curious looks from passerby and making her stomach flip over.

“You controlled the shift easily for the last two months,” she tells him, “You don’t even pull at the chains.”

Lydia idly wonders if the chains are his anchors.

“Please?” he asks, with those puppy dog eyes, “I don’t trust myself yet.”

She sighs. “I’ll call Scott.”

“No don’t!” he says quickly, “I don’t – I don’t want them to know,” he explains, “They think I’m doing awesome and I – “

She holds up a hand. “I’ll do it. Meet me at my house at eight.”

 

***

 

She wonders what the world has come to, so that chaining her best friend to a pipe is easy.

“Is it because you lost your anchor?” she asks him, “When you broke up with Malia?”

He gently tugs at the chain, his face thoughtful. “No.”

“Then what is it?” she asks, “Because honestly Stiles, you’re probably the calmest werewolf here.”

“Maybe.”

“Is it because you’re scared?” she asks quietly, “Scared of hurting someone?”

He sighs, a sigh that rattles her bones, “Yes.”

“But you’re not afraid of hurting me,” she probes, seeing the real reason for why he asked her.

“No,” he whispers, “I’m not.”

“And why not?”

He looks up at her, his eyes glowing blue. “Are you scared of me Lydia?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“You don’t want me to be?”

“No,” he runs a hand over his eyes, “Because you’re the one who’s hardest to scare anyways.”

“Why not Malia?” she demands, “After all this – she was your anchor – “

“She’s not my anchor.”

Well, this is a plot twist.

“Malia’s not your anchor?”

“No,” he sighs, rolling his neck back, “And she never was.” His voice is starting to get muffled by his expanding teeth. She knows their conversation time is growing shorter, and that pretty soon he’ll probably be growling and snapping at her (if he lost control at all.)

“Then who was?”

He arches his back, his claws digging into his thighs.

“You’re in control,” she whispers, “You know you are. You know you _can_ Stiles, so start acting like it. You know you’re not going to hurt me, and you know you’re not going to hurt the others.”

He let’s out a long, hoarse, growl, but it sounds more like someone crying that anyone else.

He slumps against the stone, eyes still blue, but face decidedly less wolf like.

“Do you,” he coughs, “Really have to ask who my anchor is?”

The realization hits her like a bullet and she gasps.

“It’s me?” she whispers, “I’m your anchor?”

“No,” he answers sarcastically, “It’s Isaac.”

She isn’t sure what makes her do it, isn’t sure why she’s suddenly becoming softer and not acting like Lydia, but she lunges forward and wraps her arms tightly around him.

“You don’t – you don’t hate me?” he whispers.

She pulls back, “Why would I hate you?”

“Because the boy who killed your best friend just told you that you’re the only reason he doesn’t turn into a murderous beast during the full moon?”

She’s automatically confused. “But you didn’t kill Allison.”

“Didn’t I?”

“Of course not,” she tells him, pushing his chest, “She died because of Void. Not you.”

“But it was me,” he whispers, and she watches as his eyes fill with tears, “It was me that let him in my head.”

She knows that nothing she can say will change his mind, that nothing will ever fix the scars stretched across his skin in red ink, so instead she just takes him back into her arms and lets him cry.

(Because she’s Lydia Martin and she’s definitely gone soft.)

(Or maybe just soft in different ways.)

(Stiles ways.)

**Author's Note:**

> any feedback?


End file.
